


Between the Lines

by bubble_bones



Series: Ariwyn and Solas [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst, Mostly Fluff, Soulmates, it will be semi-slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubble_bones/pseuds/bubble_bones
Summary: Born to the proud clan Lavellan of the Dales, Ariwyn Lavellan has never seen beyond the snowy mountain range of the Frostback Mountains. Born with her soulmate's writing on her wrist, she awaits and fears the day she will meet the man whose writing matches the letters on her skin. For whilst he could be Dalish, there is always the chance - no matter how small - that he is not; that he is from across the great sea dividing north and south, that he is Arlathani. The Dalish do not make enemies of many people, yet the Arlathani Empire is one they can never forgive.Upon the night of Arlathvhen, meeting of the three ruling clans of the Dales, she prays she will finally meet the man fated to be hers. And yet she finds herself losing her way with her new friends - and a journey between the lines that proves her fears - and hopes - true.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: Ariwyn and Solas [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007619
Comments: 20
Kudos: 29





	1. Arlathvhen

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! The new au I'd been hinting at on my tumblr (bubble-bones). It's a soulmate au, aka one of my absolute favourite fanfic tropes and it really isn't a surprise I eventually ended up writing one for Solavellan. If you've read stuff by me before, you'll probably recognise most of the original characters that appear in this fic, mostly Ariwyn, my Lavellan. 
> 
> I chose to upload this today, because it's today 2 years ago that I posted the first chapter of my other long fic, the Hunt! Feeling some weird nostalgia haha
> 
> I won't make any promises to regularly update this fic, because I know at least for now I won't be able to. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

The letters on her wrist itch. They had always been there, ever since she was but a baby; written in a cursive, elegant script, is a word.  _ Technically _ , it could probably be read as two individual words, but it is Elven, and the apostrophe between them blends the two halves together like a reflection of what they mean for her future. One day, it will lead the way to  _ him _ . This word is her only clue - her only inkling as to who the man is that has been made for her. He is out there somewhere, with a word written in her handwriting on the inside of his wrist. What did it look like? She would often wonder; is his skin pale, can she see the tendons and veins beneath the curling of her letters? Or perhaps the word is white against beautiful dusky skin. Are the hands connected to those wrists large, or small like hers? What about his forearms, his biceps? Shoulders, and then both down and up. 

_ Tel'abelas  _ is itchy again. She runs her fingertips over it, unwilling to use her nails though she knows she could never cause it damage. The only way this mark will ever leave her skin is when he says this word to her as a sign that it is him. Perhaps it is trying to tell her something - perhaps she really will have her prayers be answered. Maybe someday soon the word will fade and give way to a forever with the man she is destined for. 

She has considered the word many times. In what situation would her very first words to someone require a "do not apologise," in response? At the very least, it means he is Elven, whoever he is - she has heard stories of some elves finding their mates in the young race, the children of the stone. She could not imagine what it would mean for her future, and for the future of her clan, if her soulmate were a dwarf. Has there ever been a Keeper with a dwarf for a husband or wife? 

The thought is shrugged away with ease. It isn't something she has to consider, because very few dwarves bother to learn the language of the People. Not that she has ever met any, either; only ever having heard stories of their growing underground cities. Her mate is an elf, and she doesn't know  _ how  _ she knows, exactly. There is just a certainty about the gut feeling. It is probably also helped by the very obviously Elven word on the pale skin of the inside of her wrist. What will he sound like when he says it? Will she know right away, or will she see the word fade hours later and curse herself for not recognising the truth before her? She wonders if he will realise first. Which way around did fate want them to speak? 

Her first, probably, considering the circumstance. In what world would someone say something like tel'abelas if one had not already apologised? She shudders to think what she will do for an apology to be the first necessary words to leave her mouth when she meets her soulmate. 

Someone is talking to her. Admittedly, they've been talking to her all this time and she has not been listening - drifting in and out of the conversation, dancing between reality and her daydreams. She wants to truly dream right now, so that she might catch the shadowy glimpse of him. They see each other in their dreams sometimes, and she knows he is desperately searching for her like a man possessed. And yet she has never been able to quite reach him; always just a distant figure with indistinguishable features and a silent voice. But he is trying to reach her too. She can feel it, and she doesn't know why. 

"... Do you understand,  _ da'len? _ " Keeper Deshanna asks, and she barely blinks out of her thoughts to nod in time for it to be acceptable. The Keeper stands before her with hands on hips, and from the unimpressed look on her face, it is obvious she knows that her nod had been nothing but a lie. 

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, "I didn't mean to zone out. What were you saying?" 

Deshanna sighs, softly. "I know you are excited, Ariwyn, but you must remember your duty to your clan." the Keeper doesn't sound harsh, not at all - more exasperated. They'd had this conversation a dozen times before tonight, and she is sure they'll have it a dozen times before the clans finally coalesce. 

Arlathvhen, the gathering of the clans.  _ That  _ is tonight, the first night of celebration, anyhow. Ariwyn has never attended one before. She is too young to remember the one that occurred a hundred years past, and now it comes again on its centurial anniversary. Deshanna has her trained in the meeting rituals and various routines the clans will do for tradition before they relax into more casual familiarity. 

"As First, I expect you to be ready to greet the other clans by my side." Deshanna starts again - if Ariwyn knew all she was doing was reminding her of what she already knew, then she wouldn't have asked. "Together with your father, we represent clan Lavellan. We will extend formal greetings to everyone and then-" 

"We give our offerings to the pire and once they're all burned up, we can celebrate our meeting." she finishes, and Deshanna quirks a brow. "I promise, Keeper, I know what we have to do. I've memorised it a thousand times so I don't embarrass our clan." 

Time for a test, then. "The names of the other clans we will meet with tonight - tell me them." 

Ariwyn knows this. It isn't exactly difficult, considering how massively large clans seem to be nowadays. 

"Sabrae and Ghilain."

"And tell me the history of their clans." 

She nearly groans - it truly is a test. She had been hoping to avoid this little drill again if the Keeper had simply accepted her promise. But, she supposed, with a new acting First since the last Arlathvhen, Deshanna has every right to be worried. She should probably be grateful, too, because this will probably be the final time she can rehearse this fully before the clans gather before the pyre. Well, time to recite it word for word. 

"Alongside clan Lavellan, Sabrae and Ghilain are the three most respected and largest clans. Since the ancient war many have flocked under our individual banners and merged their clans to our names. Sabrae rule the East, Ghilain rule the West, and we peacekeep the middle ground." she sees Deshanna go to open her mouth, and speaks up before she can. "The Keeper of Sabrae is Marethari, and their first is Merril. Ghilain's Keeper is Ameridan and his first is Telana." 

The Keeper's brow quirks. "And their Seconds?" 

Her mouth goes dry. "Erm…" 

"I jest,  _ da'len _ ." Deshanna laughs, and a weight slips of her shoulders as she sighs in relief. "You remember what I've taught you well, I should not be surprised that you have revised all this in preparation for tonight." 

Ariwyn feels a little warmth bloom in her chest at her praise. She hasn't been Deshanna's First for very long - not long enough to gain consideration of high respect for the role, anyhow. Time has little value to anyone over a hundred years, and for her barely passing her twenty-fifth year as first, and being barely fifteen years older than that, she doesn't exactly garner much respect from the common people of her clan. Her title gives her some by default, but when her age is made plain, she hates how the gazes around her turn into chiding - like they look upon a mere babe. She hopes she can disprove them tonight. She hopes she does her clan proud. 

Their talk is interrupted when another joins them - a tall and stoic man, and despite the immortality they all share, somehow he always looks tired and gruff. His face is turned downward, though he makes an attempt to at least wear something other than his permanent scowl, namely more of a straight face than anything right now. 

"Sabrae just sent a messenger." he says, "They're ready to meet. Ghilain shouldn't be long now either." 

Deshanna smiles. "Good news. Send two of our own to both to tell them we are as well, maybe it'll encourage Ameridan to join us. Thank you, Geron." 

"Right away, Keeper." Geron bows his head, and goes to leave without even acknowledging the First. It isn't even for the same lack-of-respect reason as the others. Before he goes, she calls after him. 

"Babae," she says, and she can hear the huff leave his nose before he turns to address her.  _ Reluctantly _ , too. "You'll be there with the Keeper and I, right?" 

"Of course I will." his tone isn't exactly patient. "I am our head hunter. There is nowhere else I should be."

Despite asking for simple reassurance of having her father have her back during such an important time, somehow she now feels  _ stupid  _ for even asking. The magic of her father, she thinks; even the most important of questions never fail to get a blunt and basic response. Quietly she gives up, and turns to look at the fire instead of the grizzly face of her father. She hears his retreating stomps through the camp and she breathes a sigh of relief she didn't realise she was holding. 

Deshanna, however, can provide the reassurance her only parent won't. She places a hand on her shoulder, and squeezes. 

"Do not worry,  _ da'len. _ " she says, gently, "I will be with you, and we will represent our clan together."

For all her fretting, anyone might think Ariwyn is the Keeper, not Deshanna. She has to get it all under control - if anyone were to see her panicking, they'd only double down on their rigid belief that she is too young, or not ready. Certainly, she is young for a First, even for a Second. But Deshanna saw something in her; even she doesn't know what it is, but she won't disappoint. She won't embarrass the one person in her life that believes in her. 

Until Geron returns, she and Deshanna remain there, and discuss the proceedings  _ one _ more time. This time Ariwyn actually asks now struck with a fear that she can't shake; very patiently and carefully, the Keeper reminds her of how meeting the other clans will go, what to expect from the other Keepers and their Firsts. Having not met Ameridan or Marethari for a century, Ariwyn thinks perhaps she should take Deshanna's memory with a pinch of salt. Then again, how many opportunities do immortals have to change? 

From the description, Ariwyn thinks Marethari could even be Deshamma's sister. Patient and nurturing, a powerful mage and a wise leader. She rules over the Eastern Dales, and her people occupy the vast albeit somewhat murky plains and forests there. Ariwyn has never been to the East nor the West, only ever being familiar with the snowy range of the Frostback Mountains that clan Lavellan rule over. Their presence here maintains a peaceful border between the other clans, and though war has never broken out between them, skirmishes have. Thankfully, since the Dalish began to walk their own path after the ancient war, they have never seen such loss again. 

Ameridan, however, is someone that intimidates her somewhat from the information she is given. Calculating and sharp, incredibly perceptive. Yet, Deshanna describes him as somewhat witty and hopeful; he had led the Dalish forces during the ancient war, and been the first to claim the South for their people. Ariwyn cannot imagine what it must've been like, to be driven from the comfort and luxury of Arlathan by such a clash of beliefs. To push south into mostly unchartered territory and be forced to devolve from their empire and their cities to nomadic life once more. She has never known anything different, of course, but she cannot compare her lifestyle to the ones to the early Dalish. After all, after years of establishing themselves in the south, the Dalish have, at the very least, set down roots. She has never known what it is like to sleep on the ground, homeless and hungry. It is a miracle, she thinks, that Ameridan was able to lead his people through that. 

"Will I be expected to talk to them?" she asks nervously. Admittedly she balks at the idea; for once she would agree with the perception of her, and would feel far too young and out of place amongst people like that. Ameridan is something of a legend amongst the Dalish, after all, and as Keepers of the largest clans in the Dales, Marethari and Deshanna can stand beside him with no qualms. 

The Keeper seems to sense the jittery nerves. "If you do not wish to, no. There is no tradition in which you must." she reassures her. "Though you might wish to mix with their Firsts. They are your equals, after all, and it may help you relax to meet with people in your position." 

Nervously, she rubs at her wrist. Deshanna's eyes follow the gesture, and offers her a gentle smile. 

"An I right in assuming your nerves are thanks to that?" she asks, and points a finger at the word on her skin. 

Ariwyn flushes, and shakes her head. "No, Keeper, I am truly quite nervous about Arlathvhen. But…" she glances down, and once more admires the curly and neat script on her wrist. Her heart thumps a little in her chest. "What if I meet him tonight? What if he's from another clan?" 

He  _ is  _ from another clan, because she has searched clan Lavellan to no end. Once, she even embarrassed herself by simply apologising to strangers in the hopes that when they excused her, the word would fade. But it never did, and she never felt complete. He is still out there, somewhere. And if he is not from clan Sabrae or Ghilain, she shudders to consider the alternative. He could be a dwarf after all, or… 

_ He could be Arlathani _ . 

Immediately she shoves the thought aside. He  _ can't  _ be Arlathani. She is Dalish, and the Dales has only one sworn enemy - Arlathan. Her only reassurance is that she had never heard of any Dalish whose soulmate is from Arlathan. Or, said stories have simply been scrubbed from history… She sighs. If she doesn't find him tonight, then must she resign herself to an eternity without him? If he truly is Arlathani, then there is no chance she would ever find him. The empire spans the entire North of the continent, and never minding the physical distance she'd have to search, how would she even  _ get  _ there? The sundering of the ancient war had drifted the land apart, divided by a mass of water and more importantly, the deadly Breach. No one had dared try cross it in hundreds of years, not that anyone  _ wanted  _ to. 

No, she decides. He is Dalish. He  _ has  _ to be, and she won't consider the alternative anymore. 

So, he is from clan Sabrae or Ghilain. Yet the concerns that jump out at her regarding what would come next overpower the excitement at finding him. 

What does that mean for her? Will whatever role he fills there be more important than hers at Lavellan, and will she have to leave her clan? Or will he come to her, willing to leave behind what he has to be by her side? It is certainly not uncommon for clans to lose and gain members as soulmates find one another. This is why Arlathvhen is her best chance - it is rare for so many Dalish to be in one place for so long. She has one night to find him, and she is determined to. 

Geron returns. The sight of him rejoining them at their fire sends her heart racing at a million miles an hour, because it can only mean one thing. 

"Clan Ghilain are ready now." he announces, and Deshanna gets to her feet with a curious smile - like she is resigned to make her face appear welcoming and kind. 

"Then let us welcome them at  _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ ." 

As they leave the Keeper's home, they're greeted by the many expectant faces of their clan. Once upon a time, all of these elves, clustered along this route they take through the snow and rustic buildings, formed other clans. Ameridan's people divided into many after the exodus - it had only been a matter of time, Deshanna had said, until they would recognise it was safer and easier to remain united. And so now their people, no matter what clan they once belonged to, are proudly Lavellan as Deshanna goes by. Ariwyn and Geron are at her sides, and soon the people begin to follow too. The trek to  _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ is not long, but the presence of Deshanna out here means that it is time. 

Despite this supposedly being a joyous affair, Ariwyn cannot help but feel peculiar. The heavy atmosphere that weighs over their silent march, the serene yet almost eerie air filled with the slow-falling wisps of snow; it feels rather despondent. Not at all the hopeful excitement Deshanna had promised. It all feels very rigid and ceremonious, but she supposes it will until the offerings of each clan are burned upon their united pyre, and they can do away with the pomp and circumstance. Once more, the idea of being able to freely meet and mingle with outsiders to her clan stirs up butterflies in her stomach. She rubs her wrist where his word lies, and shares a secret smile with the clear, starry sky. Will tonight be the night? 

By the time they reach the summit of  _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ , the three of them have a considerable yet silent horde following their path. Out of curiosity and duty do clan Lavellan come with them to formally greet Ghilain and Sabrae. They settle on one side of the pyre that is yet to be lit, and wait patiently for the presence of their guests. Ariwyn sits cross-legged in the snow with Deshanna, who helps ease the last-minute nerves from her with simple talk of the sky, and she thanks the Gods for their blessings of relatively calm weather for tonight. She wonders how the other clans fare with the weather, even in the lightest of snowfalls. For as long as she can remember she has struggled with extreme weather of any sort, even being raised in a landscape like the Frostbacks. How people used to warmer climes like the east and west are might be faring is somewhat worrying. 

Ariwyn has very rarely come up here. The place that holds back the sky is sacred, a place of prayer and worship to their gods. As such there are many ritual sites here, and while the one they are at is not even the most important, it is the largest to accommodate so many. In the centre of a stone dias - from which the snow has been cleared before a new layer begins to form - sits the pyre for their gathering, and they are surrounded by torches stabbed into the snow that light the clearing in the dark. She would enjoy spending time exploring the other sites, too, but she is sure she will not have the time tonight. Perhaps another time she can sneak up here to sate her curiosity that she has so far been too afraid to. 

Finally, they hear steps approach, and Deshanna stands. Ariwyn and the rest of the clan follow her movements, and she wonders who their first guests are. Their clans do not have defining, individualistic banners, after all; the only tell will be the Keeper and their First. And so when the second wave of Dalish reach the ritual site, Ariwyn attentively spies who leads them - Ghilain. A man with a firm and straight pair of shoulders and even straighter spine leads the clan, face impressively weary for a race of immortal people. Millenia of conflict and hardship would do that, she supposes, admiring the natural silver of his hair and feeling slight unease at the hardness of his expression. Beside Ameridan is his First and his wife, Telana. Ariwyn isn't really even sure if he is allowed to do that - have his clan led by solely himself and his closest companion - but he has certainly not led them astray in all this time. 

No one speaks, not yet. Ameridan stops his people on another side of the circle, and offers Deshanna an abrupt yet polite nod. She gives one back, and returns her gaze to the lightless pyre. Curiously, Ariwyn cannot stop herself from staring at the pair of them across the way; Telana had certainly spent many, many more years being a First than her, and she could be a Keeper all on her own for the experience it has given her. She is not sure how she is meant to find common ground with such a woman, like Deshanna had said. In fact, seeing her only makes Ariwyn more nervous. She hopes Marethari's First is slightly less legendary; it will be difficult to build bridges with someone so impressive and powerful in her own right, even on top being the wife of Ameridan Ghilain. 

Then, only a short while after, clan Sabrae join them. Marethari leads her people with Merrill by her side. The Keeper wears her light hair in braids and a bun that her First matches, though hers is of a much darker shade of brown. Ariwyn is somewhat relieved to see that Merrill at least appears  _ young _ , though it is never easy to tell what with signs of ageing rarely affecting anyone after reaching maturity. The First of clan Sabrae has wide, curious eyes that flit about the other two clans much like Ariwyn does. They'll get on, she thinks - or, at the very least, hopes. 

Deshanna steps forward. Ariwyn takes a deep breath, and follows when her father goes too. The rest of their people remain behind and wait, watching. At the sign of their movement, Ameridan takes the initiative first, marching up to the pyre with a surety in his step that puts even her father's confidence to shame. Telana follows immediately, as if their bodies move along the same wavelength, and remains by his side when he stops equidistant from the centre like Deshanna is. 

Then Marethari comes too, and Merrill follows after her with her excitement bubbling in the form of a smile on her face. Ariwyn wishes her excitement would overshadow her nerves - those nerves that are threatening to encourage her dinner to make a second appearance.  _ Gods,  _ imagine the humiliation. She tries very hard to keep breathing steady. It is not as if she is really even important; all she does is light the pyre and- oh no, Deshanna is looking at her expectantly. 

Swallowing her heart back down from her throat so it can pound against her ribcage instead, she takes the last few steps forward. Whoever built this pyre took time and effort to do so, laying and stacking well cut logs in an orderly fashion to make it tall and rigid. When Ariwyn reaches it, she catches Ameridan offer Telana a nod. At the same time, Merrill eagerly steps forth as well, so all three Firsts are ready. It feels wrong, as the youngest here, to be leading, but she is the host, after all. It is like looking into two mirrors for their movement; she lifts her hand and they copy, and together they light the pyre with a flash of magic. There is a hush over the gathering that doesn't even break with the fresh crackle of flame. When the fire is roaring of its own accord and no longer needs their help, Ariwyn lets her magic die and steps away; Telana and Merrill offer her polite bows in turn, and she returns them before trying not to hurry back behind Deshanna. 

The Lavellan Keeper wears a smile on her lips. "Welcome, clans Sabrae and Ghilain. It is tonight under the full moon we find ourselves gathered once more, not just as allies or friends." she spreads her arms in warm welcome, perhaps as warm as the flames before them, "But as family." 

Curiously, Ariwyn shoots a glance upward. She had not even realised the moon amongst the beautiful picture of the stars - sure as Deshanna had said, it is a full sphere in the sky, milky white and bright. 

Between them, the Keepers seem to decide who will reply first. Marethari defers to Ameridan with a quirked, expectant brow, and he clears his throat. 

"It is our pleasure to be received by Lavellan." he says, and swiftly bows his head in Deshanna's direction. "Ghilain graciously accepts your welcome, as family." 

Marethari offers the same gesture. "As do Sabrae, as family." 

Deshanna is wearing a delighted smile. To Ariwyn's father she turns, and she takes the small pouch from Geron's upward-turned palm. Alone, the Keeper steps forward toward the flames - Ameridan and Marethari are offered similar such pouches from their hunters, albeit different colours, or materials. She'd love to take the time to examine the differences in their craft across clans, but that can wait. 

Ariwyn knows what is in those pouches, of course. Deshanna had told her, but had never shown the insides of the little drawstring bag; it is dirt, she claims, scraped from the last battlefield against the Arlathani all those many years ago. Before Ameridan had led the exodus across the sea - some sentimental soul had gathered up a chest of Elvhenan soil, and weighed down the ships of the frightened and desperate. Those ships had been their only chance of survival, and everything they carried across had value. It makes sense, then, that when the soil had been discovered and divided between the clans, it would be destroyed to commemorate the glory of the Dales. It had been Marethari's idea first, Deshanna had said; she had been so furious that it had not held food or resources that she nearly tossed it all overboard before she considered the sentiment. And then, turned it on its head and repurposed it as the Dalish are wont to do. 

Together, the three Keepers upturn their pouch of Elvhenan soil into the flames. A chorus of quiet gasps - herself included - rise when, for a moment, the warm orange roars a violent but memorising shade of green. That she had not been expecting. Was that meant to happen? From the calm if satisfied looks on the faces of their leaders, yes it is. Why green, though? She can't help but wonder. Perhaps it is to match the colour of the Fade; the land of dreams she wanders at night, endlessly, chasing after a figure she can't quite reach. 

Suddenly alert at the reminder of him, she scans the crowd quickly. She isn't sure what she's expecting. Alas, none of the faces she sees does anything to her - no spark, no jolt of recognition or sudden sense of self. The disappointed sigh is kept to herself. 

The flames burn naturally once more. It seems to set the hearts of those gathered at ease, and strangely, she feels more comfortable herself as well now. Maybe because she knows the formality is mostly over, or seeing Arlathani soil burned satisfies some inherited Dalish instinct in her. 

"And how have you been then, Ameridan?" asks Deshanna suddenly, so casually that they could be simply sharing a drink. 

The Keeper of clan Ghilain looks at her with a dry expression. 

"Tired and then some. But that is the way of things." his voice is gruff but nowhere near as harsh as her father's; it is low and relaxed. "Marethari?" 

There comes a shrug from her. "The cold season creeps over the east, but we have been through far worse." she shares a knowing look with her fellow Keepers, and they nod in agreement. Deshanna has a fondness in the upturned corners of her lips. 

"Now is hardly the time to reminisce on such memories," she decides, "Let us retreat down from this mountaintop and celebrate our gathering." 

"You'll hear no complaints from me." Ameridan grunts, tucking his fingers under his arms. "This weather is a curse." 

"What, no snow in the west, Ameridan?" 

"Not yet."

Deshanna beckons and leads the way; together, the three Keepers and their Firsts gather and lead the path down the mountain. The clans coalesce into the people, and the general babble of talk sounds from behind them. The Keepers are talking about the change of the seasons and how to prepare, and while Ariwyn thinks she should listen, Telana addresses her and Merrill. 

"My name is Telana." she offers, as if the both of them did not already know - it is difficult and foolish not to know the name of a legend to the Dalish. "Since we Firsts aught to know one another."

"I'm Merrill!" says the Sabrae First, smiling politely. "It's lovely to meet you, truly, quite lovely. Not just quite, really. It's an honour." 

"For me as well." Ariwyn chips in, and offers them both a bow on either side of her. "My name is Ariwyn.  _ An'daran atish'an _ ." 

Telana quirks a brow at her, and she can't tell whether that's good or bad. There's no hint of a smile on her face, or flash of amusement in her eyes - so she's judging her use of formality then. Has she passed it well or not? Ariwyn can't tell, and the churning in her stomach gets worse the longer she looks at the more experienced First, so she looks at Merrill's wide and curious eyes instead. 

"I do love snow." she says, putting a hand out to catch a slow-drifting snowflake in her palm. "We haven't started getting it in the east yet. But the few weeks where we have it are always so terrible, I don't know how you Lavellans live in it all the time!" 

She offers a coy smile. "Admittedly, it's not always easy. But our clan makes it look it - I myself struggle with the cold." 

"Interesting." comments Telana, and Ariwyn is sure anything the woman says would make her nerves spike worse. It is bad enough being in conversation with such a woman, but having her actively judge everything she says? Creators save her. "I would be interested," she continues, "To see the state of your agriculture here in the Frostbacks. I imagine it would be intriguing." 

"Oh, me too! I want to compare it to how we grow things." agrees Merrill. 

"I'll be certain to show you tomorrow morning, then." Ariwyn offers, and she catches Deshanna flashing her a look of pride. It helps settle her worries a little, if the Keeper approves. "It is nothing exciting, though. There are areas that are less mountainous than the rest and sees less snowfall, and what snow does fall is stopped by magic." 

Truly the growing fields are one of her favourite places in the mountain range; the farmers cast spells that form barriers over the allotments, and when the snow falls heavily, it creates domes under which the produce is safe. Yet walking under it is absolutely magical - a distant wall of snow holding out the sky. Every so often, a ripple is sent through the barrier to bring out the sun once more, and it is so incredibly satisfying to see it fall in one clean wave. Maybe she can check the fields tonight before they go tomorrow to impress the two of them with it. She's sure Merrill would enjoy it, at least. 

"Perhaps I will bring my daughter." Telana suggests, and Ariwyn quirks up. Ameridan and Telana have a  _ daughter _ ? "She seems to match your age better than I. It would be a good experience for her to mix with you both, I believe." 

She glances sideways at Merrill, who offers her a smile that quells the silent question in her throat. Evidently Merrill doesn't feel the same unease as her - or at least doesn't show it. It is impolite to ask her her age, despite how much she wants to. There is no way she is younger than herself, and yet she feels closer in age to Merrill than a dozen of her could be to Telana. Perhaps meeting her daughter would be a good thing after all. 

"I will introduce her tonight." Ameridan offers over his shoulder. "She is not yet public knowledge, after all, my love." 

Then it was not just her forgetfulness, and she breathes a soft sigh of relief for it. Deshanna and Marethari turn on Ameridan like rapid dogs. 

"Why did you not tell us you have a daughter?" whispers Marethari furiously, "We could've all come together to celebrate the birth! A daughter to the Keeper of Ghilain would've been truly a cause for celebration." 

"I will have to prepare gifts for the babe." Deshanna says quickly, "Warm clothes and blankets, I will make them myself with love." 

Ameridan holds up a hand. "She is no babe, such a thing is unnecessary, Deshanna, truly." when the two turn on him with fierce glares, he offers up a slow shrug. "We thought it perhaps unwise to share her with the world until she had at least taken her vallaslin." 

Ariwyn  _ almost  _ laughs. The faces on the two women take a three step cycle - anger, first, then horror, then fury again. The funniest part is the way Ameridan's shoulders shrink back at it, and by some miracle she doesn't snort. 

Legend to the Dalish people, and afraid of being interrogated by his colleagues. 

"I imagine she is not much younger than your First, Keeper Deshanna." says Telana from behind the three of them, and hearing Telana say it makes her squirm. Is it truly that obvious how young she is? She just hopes that their daughter is not so young that it is embarrassing to be compared. 

They descend back into town and the Keepers now continue to discuss Ameridan's young daughter with some excitement. It becomes evident rather quickly that Deshanna and Marethari had been hoping the two of them might choose to have a child for many years, and now she has finally come, the two of them don't know if they should be furious or overjoyed. Ariwyn honestly feels some pity for the girl she hasn't even met - Ameridan and Telana are impressive names, and to be forced to live up to that expectation? Her own father is hard on her enough, but imagining her father being  _ Ameridan _ ? That is quite a legacy to uphold. 

But she's intrigued nonetheless to meet her. And plus, if she is truly as young as Telana says, then perhaps their daughter can be the bridge Ariwyn is able to build to forge a friendship with the First of clan Ghilain. 

From there on the night begins to unfold as if it were merely any other night of celebration in her clan. The only exception being the sheer amount of people; every corner, every clear square, every little alley way,  _ filled  _ with elves. There is food being shared out from inside the houses, and more being brought from the aravels brought by Ghilain and Sabrae, and before long the air carries the smell of crackling fires and delightful food. For a while, she awkwardly lingers around where the Keepers sit and catch up - a long process considering there have been a hundred years of events to share - but she feels restless. She rubs at the word on her wrist. 

Merrill pokes her head into her vision with a smile. Her finger jabs gently at her arm. 

"I see what you're doing!" she giggles, and wiggles her eyebrows. "What does yours say? Can I see it?" 

Ariwyn moves her hand away to share the word written on her wrist, and Merrill leans close. She hums. 

"How curious! I wonder what you'd have to apologise for. Maybe you'll spill ale down their front, or walk straight into them!" 

"I've tried not to think about how I'll embarrass myself." she admits with a smile, and it gets a little laugh out of Merrill. 

"Would you like to see mine?" 

Ariwyn perks up. "Let's see." 

The other First undoes the leather bracer on her left forearm, and slides it away. Amongst the rowdy babble of people clustered around them, Ariwyn feels somewhat like a child lost in her own world, playing marbles or something with a friend. She peers at Merrill's skin, and quirks a brow. 

"Sometimes I think the Gods love their sense of humour." she huffs, and Merrill giggles. She fastens the bracer back over the word  _ yes _ . How helpful, she thinks. 

"Oh, I don't know if it's them that do it. Pick, I mean. Sometimes I think it's like a lucky draw, except everyone wins eventually. I think. Some people don't find their mates ever, do they? How unlucky, and sad." Merrill suddenly claps a hand over her mouth. She talks despite it muffling her voice. "By the Creators, I'm doing it again, aren't I? Talking too much, I mean. The Keeper is always telling me I chatter too much. I'll stop now. Sorry."

"Don't worry, Merrill, you don't talk too much." laughs Ariwyn. If anything, she's relieved the other First seems so relaxed talking to her. "It's nice to talk to someone about it. I mostly keep it to myself." 

Seemingly placated, Merrill continues their conversation. "Do you have dreams about it too?" she asks, and Ariwyn perks up. 

"I do! I can never make out what he looks like, though, he's always just a shadow in the distance." 

"Oh, so he's a he! Interesting! I can never make out mine, so I don't know if it's a he or she yet."

"It wouldn't bother you either way?" 

"No, I don't mind. After all, if fate chose them for me, then it'll be right with me." 

Merrill is refreshing to be around. Despite her giddiness, she is a warm soul, and somehow Ariwyn can simply tell there isn't a malicious bone in her body. They chat for a while more about the potential ifs and whys of their soulmates, and then find food. Merrill insists she has to bring some back for Marethari, and so they end up bringing what they can carry back for the Keepers. She offers a plate to Ameridan who gratefully accepts with a smile, and their fingers brush. For a while she considers never washing the hand again, for it has touched a literal,  _ breathing  _ legend. Then she decides she likes cleanliness too much. 

"Tell me then, Merrill and Ariwyn," says Ameridan, and she jumps when she realises he is addressing them. "How is life like as Firsts of your respective clans?" 

The two of them share a look. Merrill gives her an encouraging look but when no words form in her mouth, her new friend fills the awkward void in conversation for her while she scrambles for what to say. 

"It's lovely." she begins, "I get to learn so much and help the Keeper with taking care of our people. It's just a shame, really, that we only meet every one hundred years. I'd love to visit Lavellan more often, and it would be so exciting to see Ghilain too!" 

Ameridan chuckles. "Perhaps next time we can organise for the hosting in each of our clans instead." he proposes, "Maybe by then we will have mimicked the Eluvian passageways from Elvhenan for our own uses to make it smoother, too. How goes that, by the way?" 

Merrill brightens so quickly at the mention of the mirrors that she's like a candle being lit. 

"We're getting there a little bit at a time!" she says excitedly, "I'm sure we'll have it up and running in no time. Thank you so much, by the way, for giving us yours." 

"It is no trouble. Besides, what use is it if it doesn't lead anywhere?" 

"The Keeper and I have been studying the Eluvians from Elvhenan," Merrill explains to her, and the others are patient to wait. "Keeper Ameridan gave us the old Eluvian he brought with him from the empire to match ours so we can try to make them work again." 

"I hope he has apologised for the state it arrived in." says Telana dryly, and somehow the smile on Ameridan's face is slightly boyish. 

"I had to smash it, my love, you know that. They would've followed us through it otherwise." 

"Then how do you know fixing it will be safe?" Ariwyn asks, and the circle goes quiet. Suddenly her heart pounds. "I mean, if they were both connected to the others in Elvhenan once, who's to say fixing and turning them on again won't let them just… Reconnect?" 

Marethari is the one to answer her. Her voice is a low warning - as if not to question her project again, as fair as her question may sound. 

"We are taking every precaution." she says firmly, "Besides, once they are alive once more, we can simply overwrite any magic that might exist with our own." 

"How strong were the old spells? Maybe they're just waiting, dormant." 

Merrill glances at her somewhat nervously out of the corner of her eyes. She quickly sees why, for the rage bubbling beneath the surface of Keeper Marethari's face. Perhaps it may be best to defer to the Keeper's judgement despite her own curiosity. She bows her head and Marethari does not answer her question. After a while of awkward silence, Deshanna clears her throat. 

"Well,  _ da'len _ , will you share with Ameridan what our clan life is like?" she suggests, and Ariwyn jumps alert again. She had forgotten Ameridan had even asked amidst the talk of Eluvians and old magics. 

"I- of course, Keeper." she nods quickly, and straightens. "Our people, they're- they're doing well, despite the snow and the… The cold." she curses within the safe confines of her own mind. She hadn't really thought about what she should say, and she feels so foolish. "My father is our lead hunter, and our bounties are always plentiful. I-" she glances sideways at Merrill and shoots her an apologetic look for backpacking off her idea, "I'd love to see what Sabrae and Ghilain look like too. I've never been down the mountain." 

"Well then I extend invitations to you both." Ameridan says politely, and if her poor performance did anything to lower his opinion of her, he doesn't show it. "Perhaps it'll be a good exercise for our Firsts to visit each other's clans, do you not think?" 

"A wonderful idea, yes." Deshanna agrees with a nod and a smile, "Perhaps being a little more world weary will do our younger Firsts some good." 

"And as for you, my love, you could send our daughter in your place." Ameridan suggests, setting a hand on his wife's. "I think it would be good for her to see the world and make friends with these two young ladies." 

_ Creators _ , it's even more embarrassing to hear Ameridan recognise how young she is than it was when Telana did. 

"Speaking of, perhaps it is time we introduced her." he says, and the anger from the earlier discussion fades away in Marethari. "Would you go and fetch her, Telena?" 

"Of course." his First and wife stands, offers a polite bow to their group, and disappears amongst the clusters of people. 

Despite the cold here, it feels  _ warm _ . Certainly, there are fire pits abound, and she isn't exactly wearing thin clothing with a thick fur cloak tossed over her shoulders, but the atmosphere feels so much more like what she had been expecting than the eerie slow march to  _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ . The Dalish mix and exchange words like family, even if before today they had never met. They gather in packs, share food and stories, laugh heartily so that it can be heard echoing from the mountains around them. Somewhere, she can hear the faint plucked strings of a lute. And then of course, the immediate crackling of the fire before them, and the voices of the Keepers having a conversation she isn't listening to. 

The only thing that could make this evening better is perhaps finding the man whose writing is on her skin.


	2. Velani

The girl that Telana brings back is really not what Ariwyn had expected. The picture that had formed in her mind was a young and uncertain girl, face still sore and red from her fresh vallaslin. Maybe she would be shy and hiding behind her mother, wary of meeting new people, scared of letting down her parents. 

But no - all of this is completely untrue. Telana returns to the group with a girl so confident in her stride, Ariwyn actually feels silly for having pitied her earlier. She offers introductions to the other Keepers, and her and Merrill, with ease, that feels more excitable and merry than anything else. She eagerly shakes Ariwyn's hand with a firmness she hadn't expected. 

Everything about Ameridan and Telana's daughter is not what she had expected. She has her father's long straight nose and firm brow, but her mother's full cheeks and soft jaw. Though when this is paired with the eager bright grey-green eyes that match Ameridan's, she looks far younger than her and Merrill put together. Ariwyn starts to recognise where she's see this sort of youth before, for from what she has seen in her clan, there are typically two types. One, the shy and the uncertain, so afraid of the authority of their  _ hahrens  _ that they will obey every order. Two, the ones who do the very opposite; who think they are strong enough, brave enough,  _ ready  _ enough for adulthood. They are usually the ones whose vallaslin is drawn later, and yet Ameridan's young daughter already has hers shaped after Ghilan'nain for their clan's namesake. 

The girl's name is Velani, and once she has parked herself close to Ariwyn's side, she's telling her a story already. She asks if Ariwyn knows the tale of Ameridan's exodus - everyone does. But she cannot be rude and turn down a storytelling from a guest; so she asks if Velani will tell it. 

"We made our last stand on the coast, you know." she says, and Ameridan flashes her a smile filled with something akin to pride before returning to his own conversation with the Keepers and his wife. "My father always says that he thought that our legacy would die there and then. But at the very last moment, Mythal herself showed my father the future - the journey he must make, what he must leave behind and what he must build." 

Ariwyn tries her very hardest not to laugh. Everyone knows the tales of Mythal offering a guiding hand are nothing more than fancy, to further mystify the great Ameridan's exodus across the sea. And yet the firm look on Velani's face, lost in the midst of her tale, proves she thinks it's true. So Ariwyn keeps her mouth closed and nods instead, and Merrill does too. 

"It was then that my father changed our plans, mid-battle!" she says with some excitement, a wide grin on her face, "Can you imagine how scary it must've been? To be so certain you would make your final stand, only to be given a chance at living in peace?" the two of them aren't given a chance to answer before Velani is off again, "My father sent my mother and half the warriors to steal the ships from the harbour down the coast, and by the time the Arlathani realised, they had already sailed down to pick up my father and those still fighting." 

"Oh, how frightening it must've been!" Merrill offers, and though it could've been an attempt to make Velani smile for her retelling, the First sounds genuine. "It must've been very lucky that your mother returned on time!"

"It really must've been!" Velani nods in eager agreement. "Well, what do you think Arilwyn?" 

"Ariwyn," she corrects with a warm-natured smile, but Velani sticks out her bottom lip as if it makes no difference. Her smile fades. She tries not to sound as dry as her throat feels. "Yes, it must've been terrifying. Without your father, the Dalish would not exist." 

"He is pretty amazing, isn't he?" 

She and Merrill nod. She is starting to understand completely, now - instead of being intimidated by her parents' achievements, Velani instead thrives off them. Ariwyn cannot imagine either, what with her whole existence being kept a secret, she had never mixed much with other people, never mind ones her own age that might help to humble her. She represses her sigh. She thinks she would rather be herself, nervous and uncertain of every waking action, than be too egotistical to realise it. 

Not that Velani had necessarily done anything to warrant any distrust or animosity, not yet. She is still their guest, after all, and more importantly, Ameridan Ghilain's daughter. It is not as if outwardly choosing to avoid her simply based on an initial impression would win her any favours from anyone. Despite how much she would rather simply continue chatting with Merrill, Ariwyn lets Velani join their little circle and shares their food and drink with her. 

"Have you found your soulmates yet?" asks Velani suddenly, and the conversation has come full circle again. Merrill speaks up on behalf of both of them. 

"We were just discussing that before, actually." says the other First, "Before you came. We were hoping maybe we might find ours here, tonight." 

"Oh, how exciting! I might find mine too!" 

Somehow the idea makes her disgruntled. Truly, Ariwyn has no place to complain - her life has been relatively short when compared to others still searching for their soulmates, but if Velani were to go home after Arlathvhen with her soulmate, and Ariwyn still has not found hers, it feels unfair. 

"What are your words then?" prods Velani, sliding the jingling bracelets up her forearm to show off her own. "Mine says  _ stunning _ . My soulmate must think highly of me." she laughs.

She has to force herself to take a deep breath. She wishes her soulmate's first word to her would be something so pleasing. Part of her doesn't even want to tell Velani for the teasing that she knows would probably come after. 

"Mine's very boring compared to yours." Merrill says, offering up her wrist for Velani to see. "My soulmate is just going to tell me  _ yes _ . That could be something anyone could say." 

"You're right, that's so boring. Unfair, too, how are you going to know?" unaware of how rude she sounds, Velani turns to Ariwyn expectantly. "Well, what's yours? Something interesting?" 

Unwillingly, Ariwyn shows off her wrist. Velani peers close, as does Merrill as if she has not already seen it. 

"Oh, you're going to apologise to him first." Velani's face spells all the pity she can hear in her voice, and Ariwyn doesn't want either of it. Before she can draw her hand away, Merrill catches it and smiles at her. 

"At least he has nice handwriting!" she offers. Grateful for at least something positive, Ariwyn's lips curve upward at her fellow First. 

"He does!" Velani agrees, leaning back over to study it with more intensity. "Look, look, they have similar handwriting! Maybe they're friends or related." 

Ariwyn glances over hers and Velani's tattoos from where their wrists press together, and realises with a sinking feeling she's right. The curl of the s in both of their words is remarkably similar, but that could mean  _ anything _ , not that their mates could be related in any way. Gods, she hopes not. The last thing she could want tonight is to find her mate after all this time just to learn Velani is now family if his brother is hers or something. 

"I know!" Velani perks up, and catches Ariwyn's hand in one of hers, and Merrill's in the other. Excitedly, she squeezes them both. "Let's go and look around for them! I mean, there are so many of us here in one spot, when are we going to get a chance like this again?" 

"I said that earlier to Merrill." Ariwyn says quickly, and Merrill side-eyes her as if to say,  _ no you didn't _ . Because she didn't, that had only ever been something she'd thought. She is not really sure what possessed her to say it - there's something that feels like a competitive string being tugged at inside her. For whatever reason, she feels… Intimidated by Velani. Perhaps it's her very powerful parents, or the attitude she carries herself with, or maybe even the way she is talking so dismissively about  _ her  _ mate. Maybe it's all of them. 

Merrill decides not to share it with Velani in the end though. "Then let's go." she says with a smile, and gets to her feet. Ariwyn follows albeit a bit reluctantly. 

"Ah, ah, before you go rushing off!" Ameridan calls, and beckons to Velani with two fingers. Immediately she goes to him, and he catches her hand in his. "Don't do anything stupid, alright? Ariwyn and Merrill will look after you, so listen if they tell you to do something. I know what you're like, starlight. None of your usual antics. Are we in agreement?" 

_ Usual antics _ . Ariwyn's stomach churns at the idea. The only thing that placates her unease at the notion of babysitting an egotistical trouble-child is the chance of finding the face to the shadow in her dreams soon. Tonight. Deshanna is giving her a knowing smile, and somehow it makes her heart race. 

Tonight. 

"I promise I'll be good, babae." Velani says, and squeezes his hand before dropping a kiss on his brow. She does the same to her mother, and only then does he let go of her hand. 

"Good. Try to keep her out of trouble, won't you?" Ameridan gives her and Merrill a teasing but firm look as Velani joins them once more. 

Somehow, this feels like a test, and it scares the hell out of her. But Merrill is with her and between them, they'll make sure Velani doesn't do anything stupid. 

They begin their search, though it is less serious than Ariwyn had hoped for. Velani takes over more often than she'd like, drifting this way and that about the town, abruptly changing course and making the two of them fret immediately over her. She certainly doesn't want to be coddling anyone, not now when she could be searching for him. And she feels as if by doing so, she is playing right into Velani's hand - she might as well be sitting back on a throne watching her and Merrill leap through hoops for her entertainment with the immediate panic she causes with her erratic wandering. For all the monitoring of Ameridan's daughter that they do, Ariwyn doesn't find the time to look at anyone's faces, never mind find a cause to apologise. Would Deshanna forgive her if she left Velani to find her own way back to their fire? Would  _ Ameridan?  _

No. And she doesn't need to be making enemies with Dalish legends. 

At least she and Merrill get to talk more - as much as they can between hurrying after Velani's curious meandering and Velani interrupting them. While mostly they try to stick to polite clan business while in Velani's presence, Ariwyn can't help but give into her curiosity and breach topics Merrill seems equally interested in. Namely discussing the Eluvian repairs, what it could mean for their people. Then, Merrill tells her about the latest ruin she dove, and the implications of what it might mean for the very deep history of their people excites her - if there are ruins this far south, did elves once live outside of Elvhenan? Did they exist here before the sundering that tore their lands apart? 

They don't linger on the topic as much as she'd like to, for Velani distracts them once more by strolling on up to a pair of hunters she doesn't recognise. They're sitting at a table playing with cards and drinking leisurely from their steins. While Ariwyn doesn't inherently distrust any elf she sees, they don't look exactly friendly with their knives laid flat upon the table and their bows resting at their legs. 

"What do you think of me?" she asks boldly, planting her hands on her hips. Both hunters have turned to look at her with quirked brows by the time Ariwyn and Merrill have rushed over, but the good-natured curiosity on their faces doesn't appear to need their intervention. She breathes a sigh of relief as one of the men chuckles, and lays his cards on the table to lean his chin on his hands. He stares at Velani for a while. 

"Small." he says, and it's evident immediately this is not Velani's man. "Thin as a twig. Probably can't even wrestle your friend's arm there to lay flat on a table. Go find some other man, I'm not interested in tiny women." 

Yet his obvious dismissal isn't enough. Velani only stands firmer even when Ariwyn tries to pry her away. 

"I'm sorry, she's just curious about everything, she doesn't mean to intrude." she says, and the other hunter looks at her as well. With a jolt, she realises what she's said, and waits with bated breath for their response. 

And yet nothing comes, and the two of them merely try to return their game. Or, at least they would've had Velani not slammed her hand on their table. 

"I could take  _ you  _ on!" she decides, and the hunter grins. 

"Oh, could you now?" he asks, and bats dismissively at her arm. She doesn't move. "Come on, little girl, I'm in no mood for games." 

Velani grins too, though hers looks wicked. "But you're playing one right now. How about we play a proper one and I'll show you I'm not as weak as you think I am?" 

Suddenly, Merrill laughs. It is so instantaneous that it scares her, and even sounds slightly hysterical. With the wide-eyed horror on her face, it looks it, too. 

"Velani, let's leave the nice, muscly hunters to their card game." Merrill suggests nervously, gripping the girl's arm. 

"Relax." she drawls dismissively, "My babae says I'm good at this." 

"No offence but your babae probably let you win." Ariwyn resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Come on, let's stop bothering them."

"Yes, stop bothering us." the other hunter who has yet to speak grumbles, and with a sinking of disappointment in her stomach, Ariwyn realises she doesn't feel anything in response to either of these men. What a waste of time, she thinks. Velani was all for trying to find their mates before, and now she's simply looking for a new way to boost her ego with her father out of earshot. 

Yet even after promising said father that she would listen to Ariwyn and Merrill, she's ignoring them both. Not stopping there, she's now actively defying them by shrugging off their hands, and plonking herself firmly on the bench beside the closest hunter. There would barely be any room for anyone larger, but with her tiny frame, Velani fits on the end. 

"Come on." she sets her elbow on the table and flexes her palm in invitation. "I'll show you."

"Velani…" Ariwyn begins but she knows before she even starts that it's falling on deaf ears. Beside her, Merrill presses her hands to her mouth in horror as the hunter huffs, and gasps Velani's hand in his. She can practically  _ hear  _ the panicked thoughts running through her fellow First's mind - what would Ameridan say if they returned his daughter with a broken hand and a wounded pride? What would he do? If there is anything Dalish values more than their fellow elf, it's their own family. A man like Ameridan would stop at nothing to protect his little girl, and the fear that sinks into every inch of her body is enough to make her grasp their hands before they can begin their little contest. 

"This is Ameridan Ghilain's daughter!" she says suddenly, inspired by her panicked thoughts. Velani turns on her with a furious look in her eyes -  _ you ratted me out!  _ Her silent gaze screams. Yet her words have absolutely zero effect. If anything, it amuses the hunters. 

"Ameridan Ghilain doesn't have any children." says the hunter. 

"That's right, Ariwyn, why would you say that about me?" snorts Velani, and then uses her free hand to pluck Ariwyn's from atop theirs. 

Ariwyn feels fury in her veins. Merely an hour ago, Velani wouldn't stop bragging about how incredible her father is, what a hero he was in the exodus, and yet now? She dismisses the mention of him so easily just to shut her up, just to have her own way. She wonders if Ameridan knows how self-important his daughter is - is he aware she'd use and abuse his name for the sake of her own pride, or is she nothing more than his perfect little starlight? 

Somehow she feels a little sick at the thought. Her heart pounds with something that feels like jealousy; Ameridan adored his daughter even with her very obvious flaws that he has done nothing to correct. Yet Ariwyn, who had done everything to be a model daughter to Geron; who had pushed herself beyond her limits time and again to prove herself a capable mage to fill the role of First - she had never gotten more than a cold shoulder and the occasional shrug at her accomplishments. Velani doesn't deserve her father. Or, at the very least, does not appreciate him as she should. Ameridan is a legend and a myth all rolled into one, but that is not why Ariwyn admires him. She merely wishes her own father would look at her like he does Velani. 

"Alright, little girl, tell me when you need me to let go." says the hunter, abruptly returning her to the real world. "I don't want any whining about broken fingers, you hear?" 

"I won't be the one whining." Velani says determinedly, and the hunter's friend whistles. 

"Fierce one this one." 

"I'll take you on next." she nods at him beside her, and he barks a laugh. 

"Ready?" the hunter asks, and shifts to a more comfortable position on the edge of the bench. 

Merrill covers her eyes and presses her brow into Ariwyn's shoulder. "I can't watch." she cries softly, "Should we run away if he breaks her hand? The Keepers will kill us."

Ariwyn squeezes her hand. "I don't know if we would be able to run fast enough." she sighs, and Merrill whines. 

"Let's do this, big boy." Velani flexes her fingers around his hand, and then nods. "Let's go!" 

The breath Ariwyn gasps in doesn't come back out as quickly as she thought it would. It remains trapped in her throat when the little match does not end immediately with Velani's arm bent backward at the elbow against the table. At first, she thinks they haven't even started. But then, the hunter's brows twitch into a frown, and then a deeper, more horrified one when he realises his hand isn't moving. His arm quivers a little in Velani's grasp, and the girl does nothing but grin at him. 

"Oh! Oh she isn't losing!" Merrill breathes in relief, and Ariwyn lets out hers too. Despite searing she couldn't watch, the other First is peeking through her fingers. 

"Little bitch, using magic is-" the hunter grunts with exertion, and hasn't been able to move Velani's hand an inch. "It's cheating!" 

"Isn't that what an Arlathani would say to a Dalish mage?" she asks with a little quirked brow, and it's an even better taunt than anyone would've thought. The hunter growls, and his face twists up in concentration.  _ He's  _ using magic now too, but - it isn't doing anything. He and his friend watch in horror as his hand slowly starts descending to the table; he begins to panic when it picks up speed. 

His knuckles thunk against the wood, and Velani immediately releases him to stand up and bow over the table. Merrill is clapping at the speed of light, yet Ariwyn finds herself more concerned with the look on the hunters' faces. 

"Think twice about laughing at a little woman's supposed strength." Velani lectures with a grin, yet it slips when she stumbles as Ariwyn pulls her off the bench. When she's back on two feet, she turns around once more to pin a winning smile on her mouth again. "Good game!" 

"Yes, yes, thank you for being good sports! Enjoy your drinks, and your game!" Ariwyn says quickly and politely, and  _ hauls  _ Velani after her. She certainly is very small and light - maybe she should've done this from the start. 

When they're out of sight of the hunters, Velani digs her heel into her skin, and wriggles free. 

"What's your deal?" Velani turns abruptly on her, annoyance scrawled onto every inch of her face. "That guy insulted me and I showed him why he shouldn't have!" 

Merrill smiles nervously. "Well, it wasn't really the greatest idea-" 

"Oh hush, did you not see his face? He was so amazed, I thought he might actually turn around and call me  _ stunning! _ " 

"Don't be an idiot, Velani!" Ariwyn finds herself snapping - along with her patience like twines in an overturned lute, and Ameridan's daughter had been winding and winding all evening. "You could've gotten into serious trouble just then, and Merrill and I would've gotten the backlash if you'd have gotten hurt." 

"But I  _ didn't _ ." the girl huffs, setting her hands on her hips. "Seriously, do you two not know how to have a bit of fun? Nothing bad happened." 

"You're not listening. Something bad  _ could have  _ happened, you need to take responsibility for yourself because Merrill and I-" 

"No,  _ you're  _ not listening." Velani shouts, throwing her hands in the air. "Merrill and I this, Merrill and I that! It was harmless fun! I can't believe my babae thought I'd get along with you people." 

Ariwyn's hands are quivering at her sides. She shouldn't, she really, really shouldn't, but- Creators, her mouth is already moving. 

"I can't believe I've been made to babysit a spoilt brat on the night of Arlathvhen." she snaps spitefully in response, and the look of offended shock on Velani's face is satisfying for all but three seconds. Then, with some horror at realising that she'd actually let herself say it, she wonders how in the Dales she is going to back peddle enough to convince her  _ not  _ to rat her out to Ameridan. 

Before Velani can open her mouth, Merrill quickly comes in between them and holds up her hands. Directly in their faces, too; her palms are hovering mere inches from their noses. 

"What exactly are you doing?" the Ghilain girl huffs, unimpressed. 

"When the children fight, I do this so they can't see each other and get more angry." Merrill says quickly, "I don't want you two to get more angry at each other, because we're meant to be friends now." 

Immediately, Velani scoffs. "Friends." 

Ariwyn feels the sentiment. Here she had been, wishing she could find better common ground with Velani than her mother. Suddenly, she is missing Telena's cold shoulder. How does a woman so mature and serious raise such a bratty child, anyhow? 

"Come on, we're friends." Merrill says, and then suddenly her shoulders fall, and her ears droop. She looks like a puppy who's been kicked. "We… We  _ are  _ friends, aren't we?" 

Immediately, Ariwyn nods. "Of course we are." she wants to be Merrill's friend, anyhow. She doesn't have to specify who  _ we  _ covers. 

A little horrified and taken aback by Merrill's sudden change in disposition, Velani jerks back. "Uh, sure. We're friends, yes." she says hurriedly, and Merrill grinds from ear to ear. 

"Oh, good. Well, if we're friends, let's not fight, please? I think we should enjoy Arlathvhen together before we have to go home." 

Folding her arms, Ariwyn stands her ground. "I will only be able to enjoy it if  _ she _ promises she'll actually listen to what we say and doesn't try to bait some hunter into ripping her arms off again." 

" _ Please _ ," Velani throws back her head in exasperation, "Did you not see how I utterly destroyed him? He didn't stand a chance-" 

"Velani." Merrill says with a smile that is far too sweet to be anything but unsettling. The girl jerks upright and huffs a sigh. 

"Fine. But I'll only enjoy it if  _ she  _ lightens up a bit." she pokes an accusing finger in Ariwyn's direction. 

She almost splutters the words back at her in flabbergasted fury. How is she meant to lighten up when she carries responsibility of a glorified woman-child intent on endangering herself while her father is a man legends are made of? A man who would not hesitate to rip  _ her  _ arms off if his precious little starlight got hurt. 

"She promises to lighten up." Merrill says for her. 

Velani firmly shakes her head. "No." she says, "I want to hear her say it. Go on." 

Ariwyn runs her tongue over her teeth. She forces herself to draw in and let out calming breaths for a moment, before catching Merrill's pointed look in her direction. She ducks her head in defeat. 

"I will try to  _ lighten up. _ " she grumbles. Even if it is the very definition of half-arsed, Velani is wearing a self-satisfied little grin. 

"Yay!" Merrill clasps her hands together and grins at the both of them. "I think we should go do something fun so we can forget all about this silly fight!" 

"Something fun, huh?" Velani snorts, "Think you can handle it, Ariwyn?" 

"I know how to have fun." she protests, and the girl barks a laugh. 

"Okay then, where can we go to have some fun? This is your clan, after all." 

That, annoyingly, has her stumped. She knows where  _ she  _ has fun - she'll go venturing through the snow-covered landscape to find little clusters of herbs growing from the trees, or visit Deshanna to study some new spell or curl up by a fire and read a good book. Maybe she'd sing and weave a new blanket. But to a girl who'd goaded a muscular hunter into potentially snapping her arm simply for a kick, somehow she thinks all of Ariwyn's hobbies might appear boring. 

She won't let Velani win again, though. 

"I know just where we can go." she says determinedly, folding her arms. " _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ ."

Velani snorts. "What, that boring mountain where we burned that Arlathani dirt?" 

But, Merrill lights up at the idea. "Ooh, is it true that it's haunted? I've heard stories about it, I was disappointed we didn't stay up there for long." 

"Maybe that's exactly why we didn't." Ariwyn suggests with a shrug. She doesn't know it she believes  _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ is haunted, but there is certainly  _ something  _ up there. There's old magic, older than her and maybe older than Merrill. "I say we go up and explore. That is, it you're not afraid of any ghosts, Velani." 

Ameridan's daughter laughs and sticks her nose in the air. "As if I'd be afraid of that. I'm a mage, both of my parents are mages - I'm powerful enough to fend off ghosts all night." 

So with that they make their way through town to where the path will lead them up the mountainside.  _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ is unfortunately very tall to climb on foot so the journey takes a while to get back up again, and it is even more eerie than it was when she had been surrounded by dozens of others. Now with just Merrill and Velani, it feels as if the wind could simply decide to be malicious all of a sudden and throw them off the blasted mountainside. For how it howls without the comforting noise of the town around them, she thinks it might. 

"It's cold." Velani huffs, tucking her hands under her arms. "This better be worth it." 

"Try casting a spell, oh powerful mage." she suggests, "That'll ward off the cold." 

Shockingly, the girl does as she suggests without some sassy remark. Maybe the cold really is getting to her. 

As they take the final bend to reach the mountaintop, Ariwyn huffs a sigh. She had wanted to save coming up here for daytime so she might see what she's looking at, or even just for when she is  _ alone  _ so she can appreciate it with all the time in the world. Tonight, she'd wanted to spend the evening finding the man whose writing is on her wrist. And yet Velani had ruined that plan. Her own ego had led her up here in a chance to defend it, but what good would that do when Velani has gone home? In the long run, appeasing this girl and not taking her straight back to her father and telling her exactly what she did harms only Ariwyn. She huffs; she could've been warmed in the embrace of her soulmate by now. 

"Big whoop, it's a mountain." Velani throws her arms up dismissively, huffing as she kicks her way through the snow to the pyre that still burns strong like a signal flame. She wonders if anyone can see it. 

"Not just any mountain!" says Merrill quickly, and as she goes after Velani to warm her hands at the pyre, Ariwyn follows. "This is the place that holds back the sky. Legend has it that the barrier between this world and the world of our gods is thin, or sort-of see-through at least! But people only come here to pray on really special occasions, right, Ariwyn?" 

She nods. She'd never been up here to pray or worship their gods - almost like this place was reserved for these important occasions Merrill speaks of. 

"The barrier, that's the Veil thing, right?" asks Velani, and she's surprised she cares enough to engage with a question. 

Merrill nods. "Yes. It's the wall between our world and the Fade, it keeps spirits and demons out and us here." 

"But it's also where our gods supposedly live, if the Arlathani legends are to be believed." Ariwyn unfurls her fingers over the fire and sighs into the warmth. 

"That's untrue, though." Velani says confidently. "My babae says the gods exist in a way we can't understand. But he also says that magic felt different in Elvhenan." 

"Different? How so?" 

"More powerful? More useful? I don't know, he's only really told me about Elvhenan once or twice. He doesn't like talking about it, for obvious reasons." 

She'd imagine telling one's daughter about the land and people that outcast you when they could not kill you is nothing but painful. And so she understands Ameridan's choice, but at the same time she feels herself disappointed. Like any young elf she finds herself curious about Elvhenan - the supposed glorious empire that has thrived for millenia across the sea. Even before the world was sundered into two halves, the empire existed. She had only ever seen their people living in huts and living off the land. She can't picture bejeweled city streets and living in the luxury the myths claim Arlathani elves have. 

"This isn't the only ritual site, is it?" Merrill asks, pressing up on her toes to try to see around the pyre at the area beyond the circle of torches.

"No, there are others but they're smaller." Ariwyn says, "Should we try to see if we can find one that has dormant power?" 

Merrill excitedly nods, but their young friend isn't convinced. She snorts. "How are we meant to tell if it has  _ dormant power? _ " she puts Ariwyn's words in air quotes with a disbelieving look upon her face. 

"Weren't you  _ just  _ saying you're a powerful mage?" Ariwyn grumbles. "If there's magic intrinsically tied to a place, you can feel it. It's like an energy, you can just… Sense it." 

" _ Right _ ." 

Despite her complaining, Velani trails after her and Merrill when they leave the pyre. Ariwyn unroots one of the torches out of the ground, and snaps the end of the long stand so it's more manageable to hold. Merrill insists they walk with arms linked so they can't risk losing each other to the dark. They wander around the flattened expanse at the mountain aimlessly for a while, finding various sites but nothing that feels special. Velani begins to complain just as Merrill stops short, and excitedly squeezes their arms. 

"Do you feel it?" she asks, and Ariwyn stills in place to concentrate. After a moment she realises what Merrill is talking about; there is something old here. Older than her, older than Merrill. Older than  _ Ameridan _ . It is powerful, the lingering traces of magic making the air feel thick and hard to breathe into her lungs. Once she has acknowledged its presence it won't leave, and she breathes slowly and deeply to settle the racing in her heart. 

How had there been such an ancient power tied to this place, and she had never seen it? Why had she never come up here before? Something about it feels… Right. As if it is a piece that clicks into an empty slot to some part of her soul, but it's not  _ enough _ . The second she begins to feel content, the magic slips away, and she follows its invisible movements further into what she can only assume is a ritual site buried beneath the snow. It surges again and she feels blissfully at peace despite the cold and the dark. 

"That there's so much power here…" she breathes, "I wonder what it was for. What sort of spell was cast here that there's this much magic left over after so long?"

"It is so curious, isn't it?" Merrill is grinning, and she suspects perhaps she feels it differently to the other First. Where there is excitement and curiosity on Merrill's face, all Ariwyn can feel is that strange sense of ease with every rise of the ebbing, ancient force. When it fades with every fall, she panics, only for it to wash over her again like a soothing shower of rain on a hot day. 

How does she know what that feels like? She has never seen rain - nor felt true heat under a sun. With some caution, she glances at their feet, wipes away at the snow until she sees the telltale sign of ley lines carved into the stone beneath their feet. Is this the magic's doing? If she thinks hard enough, she can  _ feel  _ it; the gentle pitter patter of rain on her skull, the sense of innate calm it carries with it. 

"Can you feel that too?" Ariwyn asks, "Rain?" 

Velani quirks a brow. "Rain? It's snowing, but no rain." 

"No, I mean through the magic."

"I can't." 

"Me neither." adds Merrill, and her bright eyes are wide with excitement. "Maybe it likes you! What else do you feel?" 

She finds herself frowning as she thinks on it harder. Since she imagined the rain, what about the heat of a sun while her mind is focused on the weather? To both her horror and amazement she feels a warmth envelop her skin, hitting her as if it were above in the sky, not from the torch in her hand. 

"That's incredible," she breathes in disbelief, "You really can't feel that?" 

"Oh, I wish I could!" 

"Why does it like you and not us?" Velani huffs, folding her arms abruptly. "Just listening to you ramble about it is no fun." 

"I apologise, your Majesty, that I'm fascinated by the mysteries of an ancient magic we don't understand." Ariwyn grumbles. She's tired of playing nice, especially when Velani isn't even bothering to try. Besides, her mind is too caught up imagining what it's like to swim in the sea with the help of this mysterious force. "Are they memories?" she wonders idly. "Am I actually communicating with a spirit maybe?" 

"You should be more careful," Velani shrugs, "My babae says spirits are more likely to be demons in this end of the world." 

It is a good thing she's so caught up in her mind, else she would've cracked under the girl's provocation and snapped again. She  _ knows  _ what she's doing. While she might not have had Ameridan as her father and teacher, Ariwyn is still a competent mage. She tries not to look too insulted. 

"Whatever it is, it only likes you." Merrill says, sticking out her lip. "I can't see or feel anything. Well, I can feel something - I can feel the magic. It's really strong. But I don't see anything." 

"How bizarre." 

"Ugh, I don't wanna stand here in the cold all night while you play with a demon!" Velani whines, and stomps further into the ley lines. "Since we're here, let's do something fun."

"Like what?" Merrill chirps, cocking her head. 

"Well, spirits supposedly love watching us real people do things. Why don't we give them a show? Let's dance." 

Ariwyn snorts. "Dance? Here? To what music?" 

There's a deadpan look upon Velani's face. "Do you have zero imagination? Have you never just danced to a tune in your head?" 

"Well…" Yes, of course she had, but it had always been when she thought she was alone. While tidying she'd waltz about the place with no clear steps and sing a song to herself, or dance through the snowy wilderness while she was foraging. Once, a trio of hunters had caught her and assured her she'd give them a good laugh. It was absolutely humiliating. 

"Dancing would be fun, I think." says Merrill, "Let me just…" 

With a simple wave of her arm, the thick snow layered upon the lines is pushed aside, revealing the carved stone beneath. Ariwyn isn't sure whether it was wise to use magic atop an already pulsating source of old magic, but what terrible thing could the lingering trace of a spirit cause? 

Or at least she is assuming it is a spirit. She has no idea what it is of course, but for now a spirit is her best guess. Maybe she can come back and study this place, try to figure out exactly what it is that is showing her these things she  _ knows  _ she never has; find out why it's chosen  _ her _ . Maybe bring Deshanna up here and ask her if it affects her. 

"Come on, come on!" Velani encourages, and grins when Merrill comes forward to take her offered hands. "Yes! At least one of you has some sense of fun." 

Ariwyn rolls her eyes, too preoccupied to be bothered by her teasing. She simply sits upon the cleared ground Merrill has made and watches the two of them prance about mindlessly to a song she can't hear, and they twirl and spin and jump and laugh. Strangely, after a while, she can hear  _ something _ . A faint arrangement of string instruments, though nothing like the casual plucking of lutes and bash of drums that the Dalish use. The music she hears through the memory, the vision - whatever the spirit is showing her - doesn't fit at all for Merrill and Velani's freeform playing. It is too slow and uptight. But the spirit doesn't seem to care, and it is the only song that plays in her head. 

"Oh, come on, Ari." whines Merrill, who stops to huff for some breath. No one had ever shortered her name like that before, and somehow it makes her grin with the familiarity that comes with it. "Dance with us, come on." 

Velani nods. "Yeah, don't be so boring."

With a huff, she stakes the shortened torch into the ground beside her and the two of them cheer. 

"I'm not boring." she says, as she goes to join them, dusting the snow off her behind. "I can dance." 

_ Can she?  _ She pushes the thought aside as Merrill and Velani take one of her hands each and lead her into their dance. At first she feels awkward and heavy, and the weight of the magic on her soul doesn't help either. She feels vaguely lethargic and drowsy. But when Merrill slips and has the three of them in stitches laughing, she feels herself relax; she finds she doesn't really care about the silly steps she makes or the nonsensical twists she turns. It's fun, despite the distant ringing of ill-fitting music, and the cold biting at her nose. The movement of their revelry about the ley lines soon warms her up anyhow.

When she feels like she's worn out and could never dance another second in her life, she thumps abruptly to the floor, and Velani and Merrill laugh again with the thought that it's  _ her  _ turn to fall. 

"No, I'm resting. Come on, join me! The sky is so pretty." 

Merrill does so first, laying flat on her back on her left. Then with a huff, realising the two of them have covered her dancing space, Velani lays on her right. With a grin, Merrill takes her hand and squeezes. She copies and does the same with Velani, though the girl scrunches her nose up at it first. 

"The sky  _ is  _ pretty." Velani mumbles, "It's the only thing my babae says feels like home.  _ No matter where you go, the stars are always there _ .  _ The dawn will always come.  _ That's what he used to tell me when I was afraid of going to sleep." 

"You were afraid of going to sleep?" Ariwyn asks with a little laugh - not meaning to upset her, just surprised. 

Velani huffs. "For a while, after babae told me about demons in the Fade. I was scared of one possessing me in my sleep." 

A reasonable fear for a child, she thinks. She wonders just how much Ameridan has taught her, and how much left she has to learn. A lot in her books, at least in regards to her own character and how it applies to the people around her. Maybe someday she'll be caught a lesson that helps her reign in her arrogance a bit. Not her confidence, though; Ariwyn wishes she had even but a spoonful of what the girl has in spades.

"That's a lovely saying, though." says Merrill softly, "I liked the part about the stars." 

"Me too." she admits, "Though the part about dawn resonates more with me; I love the night sky, but something about sunrise is so…" 

"Relieving?" Velani offers, and she finds herself nodding. 

For a while they fall into silence. Merrill squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back - she tests the same with Velani and after a second of hesitation, she does it back. 

"Do you think we can still be friends after Arlathvhen is over?" asks Velani quietly, surprising them both. "I just mean - babae doesn't let me mix with people in my clan. I'm surprised he even let me go off with you two. I just don't want to leave and have this be forgotten. I don't want to go back to being alone." 

A wave of sympathy washes over her. Certainly, here in her own clan she has no shortage of friends, but she knows what loneliness feels like; people avoided her so much when she was first chosen as Deshanna's new apprentice. After a while things returned to normal, and she could approach and be approached again by others, but she's never really had someone particularly close. She had been so desperate to find her soulmate to give her that, but maybe friendship will do for now, to fill that void in her. 

"I won't forget about it." she promises, and Velani rolls her head over to look at her. She looks just like how Ariwyn had imagined her; frightened and shy, conflicted by her wishes to see the world and be protected in her babae's shadow at the same time. 

"Me neither." Merrill says, "After all, the Keepers were talking about us Firsts visiting each other's clans, weren't they?" 

"Oh, they were." she says with a nod, and turns to Velani with a smile. "Don't tell your father I told you, but he suggested you go in your mother's place." 

Velani jumps upright. "Really? He's never let me leave the clan."

"He probably let you come out with us tonight to see if we could look after you enough for you to come with us." 

Her face drops. "Oh. Oh, no, I'm so stupid." her shoulders sink as she presses her palms flush to her face, and Ariwyn can see the telltale sign of a flush on the tips of her ears. "I'm sorry! I didn't think it was important, I was just trying to have some fun. Please don't tell babae I did that stupid thing with the hunter, or that I didn't listen, or that I called you boring." 

Ariwyn and Merrill sit up too, and exchange looks. Already they seem to have agreed silently that all of those things were already going to stay between them, but it appears Merrill is as surprised as her that Velani is so readily apologising for it. She really must be desperate to see more of the world aside from the little gilded cage Ameridan has raised her in. 

"We won't tell him." says Merrill, and Velani draws her hands away, uncertain, to look between them both. "We want you to come with us." 

A grin spreads on the girl's face. "Thank you! I promise, when we go, I won't be stupid! I'll listen to both of you and I won't be so mean. I'll try, at least." 

Ariwyn quirks a brow. "Am I still  _ boring _ ?" 

Velani laughs. "You took too long to convince to dance with us. But other than that, no. You're okay." 

There's a scuffle in freshly fallen snow around them as Merrill gets to her feet and dusts off her legs. 

"Should we dance some more?" she asks, "I think it's fun!" 

Velani is already on her feet too, and dragging Ariwyn with her. Rolling her eyes, she gets up and lets the two of them ply her back into their silly, unorganised dance. She finds herself laughing into the cold air, and her limbs feel so relaxed they feel lethargic as they twirl. The magic in the air here, in the ley lines beneath their feet - it sings to her better than proper music would to propel their dancing. All at once, the vision flashes clear; a golden, dazzling ballroom, beautiful people with beautiful smiles. She lifts a glass to her lips and tastes the fruit of the dark wine in it, and then she blinks, and it's gone. Strangely, when she tries to call it back, it feels like a faded memory in her own mind. 

She tries to shrug it off entirely. Whatever it was, there is time for study later - for now, she is going to enjoy spending these late hours of Arlathvhen with her new friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is having lovely holidays even despite the bizarre circumstances this year! Thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, I'll get to responding to them right after I'm done uploading this chapter! <3
> 
> I promise Solas will appear soon! XD


	3. A disturbance in the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all well. 
> 
> This is the last of the chapters I have fully written, the next one is still a work in progress, and with my current obsession with Cyberpunk, I can't promise I'll be struck with inspiration to continue on with it in the immediate future. I'm definitely not dropping it, I just wanted to tell you what's happening if this doesn't see an update for a little while. I'm sowwi 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter regardless <3

A gentle wind whispers through the forest, and carries a dozen golden leaves with it past his window. Solas watches as they go, chin resting upon his fist, though he isn't looking, not really - his mind is elsewhere again. When the breeze settles down, he is returned to the blissful silence of his home. It is still too big and too empty when he lives here alone, but the solitude is welcomed in recent years. 

_ Enough moping _ , he tells himself, and gets to his feet. He tidies away the evidence of his lunch from an hour ago; cleans the plate, the glass, the cutlery - leaves them to dry on the counter under the warmth of the sun peeking through the leaves and the stained glass at the arched top of the window. Once that is done he walks through his house without any real goal in mind. He wants to do something, anything. Engaging work that will occupy his hands and mind both, and his feet carry him silently to his studio. 

This room had been designed as a parlour, a reception space for many guests and luxurious parties. Evidently the man that built this place for him had higher expectations for the social life of his client. It suited him well, however; the double-storey space is breezy and light thanks to the tall windows lining one wall. The high ceiling serves as an excellent way to hang various sculptures from chains. Hand-crafted, of course, for it isn't in his desires to display the remains of beasts he may have conquered and slain. There are ladders to take him up to an observation level above, to look down over his messy work space. Across the room there are tables covered in projects started and abandoned, the wood beneath stained with every colour of paint that can exist in the world. He sighs as he passes them by. He has all the time in the world and yet so many of his work are left half-finished like this. If he had the motivation, he'd enjoy cleaning each and every one up to finish and display. 

That is where the problem lies. His severe lack of inspiration is even crippling, and does his work no favours. He does not  _ need  _ to paint, but it is one of the few things to give him joy. And now that he struggles with even that, he does not want to envision the day even that avenue of pleasure dries up. 

He forced himself to do something. He brought himself here consciously or not, and so he will find something to occupy him. As of late he had been doing studies of his imagination; he has had bizarre flashes of his memories. One, a town tucked away amidst a snowy valley, of an architecture younger and more primitive than the earliest buildings in Arlathan. It was lit with many warm fires and it glowed an orange against the pearly white of the snow. Yet no matter how hard he thinks on it, he doesn't remember where he's seen it. Certainly, he's been amongst snow before, but he cannot for the life of him remember this town. Nor where it is, or who lives there. 

He had painted it. Or, at least, begun to. Coming close to the table it sits upon to examine it, he critiques his work. The whites and greys of the shadows are too harsh, and there is hardly enough light to convey the feeling of warmth in his chest when he remembers the sight. The buildings are no more than vague shapes of a dark brown against the landscape. Their silhouettes don't even convey the rustic shape of the roofs or the strong pillars of wood holding them upright. 

Perhaps he will try again with that one soon. Not now, however. He does not feel a particular draw to that one, not when he spies another study of his memories he had begun only a few days ago. 

It is a plant. This he is more infinitely familiar with; it is a sprig of elfroot, with its rounded green leaves and its stem that thins as it reaches for the sky. Yet again, its roots are buried amidst snow. He isn't sure if elfroot can even grow in snow - when was the last time he'd even gone foraging? Maybe this painting was based on a dream; when he conjures the image in his mind that was the reference for this piece, it is all distorted and unclear, after all. The hand that holds is twisted by the lack of clarity in a dream, too thin and too dainty to match his own. 

He has certainly matched a good shade for the green of the elfroot, but it lacks any definition by tone or lighting. The hand too could do with more work. The background is not so important, as he cannot remember anything aside from the clear snow beneath his feet; the foreground is the focus, and he has barely even begun to do the plant justice with the severe lack of any detail. 

As Solas sets this canvas down once more against the table, he sighs. His mind is overpowering him again, yet this time it isn't necessarily terrible; an intrusive thought, a memory, stabs through any other ones he might've been having. It is a woman's face. She looks young, but a mildly sad look pulls at her brows and hides her curious eyes. Stranger still, is that he does not recognise her face. Was she a student of his in Arlathan? How is it that, if that is true, that he can remember it with such clarity? He has not worked in Arlathan in many years now. Any student's face would have long since faded. 

_ What a peculiar thing to be inspired by _ , he cannot help but think, but it is too late; the drive to create had already struck him and dug its claws in. And having missed the feeling recently, he willingly accepts the challenge. He rifles for a fresh canvas, and begins immediately on sketching the image of the woman, whoever she might be. Captures the line of her long, straight nose, and the fullness of her cheeks. Restarts the shape of her round, bright eyes multiple times to sufficiently translate their youth to the canvas. He makes a note for later of the slightly red skin beneath the lines of her vallaslin, for without them it misses a part of her recent entry into adulthood. 

Abruptly he stops. The line across her brow that he has drawn for her vallaslin suddenly strikes him as odd. No one wears vallaslin like this anymore. It is an old style, incredibly out of fashion - by at least a few hundred years, if not more. Maybe this memory is even older than he thought. Why he would be struck with it now is still a mystery. 

He continues on, with only the breeze and the rustle of leaves outside the open windows as his company. At least, until he notices he's being watched. 

"Hello, Wisdom." he greets without taking his eyes off his work. "I do not know why you think you are good at hiding. You are not." 

The spirit comes to rest upon the desk beside his easel, a vague shape of a being that resembles an elf. Yet he knows better than any that Wisdom's form never stays consistent just as any spirit's. Today, it seems, it picks an Elven woman as its form, yet he can't make out much more than the vague silhouette of it as it rests against the table, glowing a vibrant green against the warm browns and beiges of his studio. 

"Maybe someday I will learn, my friend." says Wisdom, and he chuckles. 

"What might I do for you?" he asks, finishing another swift stroke with his pencil before looking up at where the face of the spirit might be. 

Its shoulders lift in a shrug. "Nothing. I was merely bored and came to see what you were doing." 

"Bored?" he snorts, "A spirit of Wisdom, bored? One might imagine you were considering taking a body if you feel such things, my friend." 

"Not any time soon. After all, you still have need of me."

He chuckles. While his friend may primarily be a spirit of Wisdom, after so many years of existence, even a spirit can learn to encompass other things. Their conversations had certainly gotten more interesting after Wisdom finally learned the proper usage of humour. 

"What is this?" the spirit asks, drifting to peer over his shoulder. "A new client, perhaps?" 

"No. A memory of my own, in fact." he admits, "I do not remember it, but I was suddenly struck by the image of this woman. I had to draw it lest I forget details." 

Wisdom hums. "And would it be so bad if you forgot?" 

He stops for a moment to consider it. His friend had a point - what did it matter if he forgot what this woman's face looked like? For a moment he silently contemplates it and then his heart leaps into his throat. What if this woman is  _ her _ ? He studies the sketch with intensity, desperately remembers every inch of this woman's face in his memory. But he feels nothing. Aside from the inspiration to continue this painting, there is no innate drive, no irrepressible desire to be by her side. He huffs a sigh. 

"I do not know." he says. "She feels… Important." 

"The sorry one?" 

Of course his friend jumps to the same conclusion as he had. He shakes his head. "No. It is not her." 

_ The sorry one _ had become his soulmate's nickname after Wisdom had seen the apology branded on his skin. He had been offended on her behalf at first, but it eventually became easier to talk about her if he didn't directly speak about her as his. It is too painful, otherwise. After so long, being alone, he allowed himself to feel even an ounce of hope again. 

"Do not think on it too hard, my friend." Wisdom reminds him. "It is only a matter of time." 

"Time." he scoffs. "I have waited long enough, don't you think?" 

For a spirit, time had no purpose. He wonders if Wisdom even understands time's logic. For an immortal as old as him, it should not bother him either. Every second he spends here has no weight. He could spend days not leaving this studio and it would not matter. He has participated in spells that have taken weeks to charge, competed in tournaments that last months. Yet the one thing he cannot stand waiting for anymore is her. He has walked this world for thousands of years, burdened by loneliness, and he is so tired of it. 

"You will see," it says, softly, "When you find her; that it was all worth it, in the end."

Solas sighs. He turns back to his portrait. 

In silence, he sketches for what feels like hours. When finally he feels content with the shapes he has made with his pencil, the corrections he then makes, he stands. His legs ache for sitting still for so long, but it is quickly eased away as he wanders the space of his studio, collecting various tools and materials from here and there. Helpfully, Wisdom goes off on its own to find some of the ones he cannot find, placing them in a little pile atop the table it had sat on. 

Then he starts painting. He is, for the first time in a long time, determined; if he does not finish this painting in one sitting, or at the very least reach a point in which he has captured the majority of the girl's most important features, then he fears he will forget exactly what she looks like. Wisdom finds something to do in mixing up his paints - most of the time the spirit can guess at what ideal shade he needs, it is oftentimes quite miraculous, not to mention time-saving. But every so often he has to stop to instruct Wisdom in adding a little more of this colour, deepen the pigment there or lighten the shade there. Even if he knows this woman is not "the sorry one," he wants to do her the justice she deserves. Ordinarily he avoids realism portraiture for its strict rules and thus the limitations it places on his creativity. For now, he will make an exception. 

"I think she may have been a student of mine in Arlathan." Solas says, breaking the silence. Wisdom hums as it drifts from one of his shoulders, to the other. 

"Why remember her now?" the spirit asks. The same question he had asked himself. "It has been many years since you last visited Arlathan, never mind tutored anything there." 

He hums in agreement. It helps to ease his worries when his friend repeats everything he had already considered - yet it does little to settle the confusion in him. 

"The last time I mentored there, it was…" he breathes as he considers the time that has passed. Centuries, maybe? He cannot remember. "It was a literature class." 

"Yes." Wisdom agrees. Spirits have better memories than elves; "You complained that the politics of the staffing was becoming too much to handle. Perhaps this student stood out to you before you left - maybe she made an impression."

"I don't think so. I would have remembered her name. Or, at the very least, remembered meeting her if she did." 

He continues to contemplate the bizarre situation while he paints. The lighting of the woman's face is peculiar in his mind; from one angle, beneath her left jaw which is turned towards him, there is a source of warm light. A fire, maybe, or a torch. Yet the rest of her face is mainly in shadow save for only one other light source, from above. The moon, he knows immediately, for the soft blue-light glow upon her hair. Yet another mystery. Nowhere in the city was secluded enough not to have some form of light peering in from somewhere else. He also did not make a habit of meeting with students in the evening, or outside of teaching at all for that matter. 

"It is possible," Wisdom begins anew, as he blocks out the shadows underneath the woman's convex brows. "That this woman was seen through the eyes of the sorry one." 

Solas stops so abruptly that his wrist goes awry. Cursing, he hastens to fix his mistake, realising after that he has smudged the shape of her upper eyelid. But it suddenly doesn't matter as he sinks back down onto his stool. He had heard that it is possible, but to think he would ever see through her eyes in place of his own… 

He allows the jitter of hope to pierce through his heart. 

"Do you think-" he says, and sighs to ease the stutter in his lungs. "Do you think it will be soon, then?" 

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." 

"Who is this woman to her?" he wonders aloud. A feeling creeps over him - like he has been granted access to forbidden knowledge that is yet just out of his reach. He has been given such a tiny sliver of her life, such a miniscule clue. It is the first he has ever had. Maybe his search is finally over. 

"A sister?" Wisdom suggests. "A friend? A lover?" 

The idea makes his blood go cold. It is hypocritical of him to think of it so, but the idea of the soulmate he has spent all eternity searching for with another breaks his heart in his chest. He prays for one of the first options Wisdom had offered. Maybe there is still time to win her hand. 

It is not impossible to go against fate's design, after all. He has heard tales of people claiming they have found love before their soulmate and denying them. It is looked down upon by the Evanura, of course - shamed and slandered until the defiant are forced to live their lives out of reach of the government. He had considered doing such a thing many times. Once, with one woman, he had thought it might be possible. 

And then the night came upon which he introduced her to his closest friend. Suffice to say their entanglement was swiftly ended when he realised he had brought two soulmates together. 

Truly, he should've expected something to go wrong. With Liren, things felt right; he was happy, she was happy. He would wake in the morning in their shared bed and their shared house, eat breakfast together and kiss goodbye before they parted for the day. Him to his lessons in the Arlathani university of arts, and she to the many performances such a songstress was hired for. In the evening they would see one another again, speak about their days and their troubles, and tumble into bed and find contentment in the simple joy of each other. It felt too perfect, like it was only a matter of time until their relationship hitched on something. 

He could not stay in Arlathan after that. He was growing tired of his career and the competitive workspace with his peers, sick of the rigmarole of the intense politics ingrained upon every tile on every street. Liren and Abelas had been the final straw, and while he harbours no malicious feelings towards either of them and still considers himself a friend to them both, it simply hurts too much to stay. Not only because she was happy with someone else, but because it reminded him so harshly how alone he truly is. It also broke his heart to see the effect of fate's magic take ahold of her. Suddenly, anything she had with him paled compared to what she could have with Abelas. Within days he was forgotten. 

It was not Liren's fault. They both knew the risks they were taking together but they took them anyway. He had not expected to find his mate soon, and he had not expected her to find hers - never mind for it to be Abelas. 

Night falls, and he finds he doesn't want to leave. It's somewhat relieving, truthfully, to  _ want  _ to continue working. There isn't really much more to push for this piece, at least nothing he wants to; he is not one for minute detail in realism, though he respects the dedication of those who are. He compares the painting of the woman before him to the one in his mind. There are minor things to tweak, and he is sure he has things only slightly out of place or wrong, but already the memory is in the back of his mind and the detail is faded. The woman on the canvas is sufficiently captured forever in paint. He thinks she would be pleased with it, whoever she is. 

"You should eat, my friend." says Wisdom. Ever the practical, this spirit. 

He gets to his feet. "You are right. Would you like to keep me company, or do other matters call your attention?" 

"I will stay a while longer. But then I think I will go where others may have need of me." 

Admittedly, Solas is grateful for Wisdom's company. Even if it is not a spirit of Compassion or Benevolence, it knows his mind is weighed down by things he would rather not consider. It attempts to distract him while he prepares a meal, engaging him in a small debate on a matter it claims to have heard in the streets of the nearest town - still miles away from the seclusion of his home. Yet he respects the people there, and they bring him produce and supplies in exchange for money or services in magic he can perform for them. Magic that is too intense for the more casual of mages, anyhow. 

When Wisdom leaves him, it suddenly feels cold again. He sits in the same spot he had that afternoon, under the window, and the wind is more of a howl now, clawing at the glass and hauling leaves after it. His meal is bland and boring, and leaves a poor taste in his mouth. Even the wine he treats himself to every so often feels like sandpaper. 

This solitude, he can barely stand it anymore. Every so often, when he has a visitor or leaves his home for the company of another, it vaguely fills the hole inside him. Like a puzzle piece, but it is the wrong size, and it holds in place for such a short time until it pops out on its own. He knows there is only one piece that will fit forever, and it frustrates him. He has always been willing to have only one other by his side for all eternity if she was willing to have him. But waiting an entire eternity just to meet her first? He doesn't know if he has the strength to hold on much longer. Either he will find her or he will break under the weight. 

He feels as if he is trapped in a loop. For the third time that day he goes through the motions; cleans away the remnants of his dinner, leaves the plate, glass and cutlery to dry. He tidies away the ones he used at lunch. Then he goes back to the studio. He doesn't know what he wants to do, but it is dark, so he lights the candles about the space and hanging in the chandelier above with a wave of his hand. It feels so… Unimportant. His friends were right; he is wasting his talent here. Hiding away out here in the woods in his lonely home, too afraid to venture back out once more into society for what he might be used for next, or what his own heart might want after. Already he has made the mistake of both - allowing his power to be used for a force he had never agreed with,  _ and  _ giving into his heart's desires. 

Once more he looks upon the portrait of the woman. The girl who is not his student like he thought - she is the sister of his mate, maybe just her friend. Her  _ lover _ . He runs a hand over his scalp and tries to breathe. He does not let himself to close lest he do something he regrets. He cannot let his anger loose. Ordinarily he is a master of control over his magic and his emotions. Yet something about these subjects of his recent paintings clench his heart so tightly it is difficult to breathe. He looks again over the paintings - the town in the snow, the elfroot, the girl under the moon. They're  _ her  _ memories, not his. It is not a wonder he had not remembered the details or the situations. He had been offered mere hints of her life, snapshots of unimportant things that gave him nothing. 

Like a man possessed he returns to his easel - he pries the canvas of the girl from it, forgets it somewhere on the ground behind it. Once he finds a fresh one, there is no hesitation in him. He plucks up a pencil, ready to sketch, and yet… His mind draws a blank. Surely it would not be difficult to imagine the face of the woman who has been promised to him since the dawn of his existence, the one who has eluded him for so long. Yet he finds himself halting on every detail. What shape do her eyes sit in? Are they sunk into her skull, how far do her brows and cheekbones above and below sit relative? What about the colour of them? The length of her lashes? The curve of her eyebrows. What of her nose, what shape does it have, how long does it reach down her face? Her lips? Her hair, her neck and her shoulders. What does he imagine her ears to be shaped like, how far does the pointed tip reach? 

He answers every question as he sketches. This first draft has a woman with a pensive look, thoughtful and clever. She has sharp angled brows and pretty cheekbones that glide in a curve under her eyes. The longer he looks at it, the more it does not feel right. With a sigh he comes away from the easel entirely, pacing the studio space - up and down aisles of tables until he comes across a pile of scrap parchment, and bits of thick card he had meant to use but hadn't. Instead of using a canvas for every new idea, he spreads the papers out on a desk and sets to work. Before long they are flying out across the table. Each iteration has new features, or a combination of old. Sometimes he will focus on just her eye shape or her hands, make notes on the colours he could find in them. 

It is futile, he knows, for no matter what he might create, how close he might come, he will never be right. But he is grateful for the re-emergence of this lost obsession. It keeps his mind clear and occupied, because he can focus on the simple task of theorising and pairing the combinations together. He fears she would find such a thing mortifying if ever she knew, yet it brings him some comfort, and he hopes that would be enough to convince her. 

He has drawn her before. Imagined what she would look like, but never this much in one sitting. It had always been an idle fancy, a little drawing here and there to remind him to keep pushing onward despite the grim circumstances he once upon a time found himself in more often than not. He is desperate to keep himself busy long enough until he feels the lethargy begin to kick in, so that he can retire to bed without ruining the schedule he manages to keep to. Yet he knows how it will go; he will toss and turn until he lies flat and stares at the ceiling for hours. Then his body won't be able to keep him awake anymore. 

Finally, his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He gives up on this new combination halfway through drawing the shape of her left eye, and retires from his studio. The flames on the candles flicker out as he goes, and once more he is plunged into darkness. He walks the corridors lit only by the light of the moon streaming through the windows to the garden in the middle of his home. Someday soon he should tend to it. The magic he has set in place to nurture the plants can only do so much, after all. It will require some intervention by his hand. 

Not tonight, though. His feet carry him mindlessly to his chambers, to his cold and lonely bed. He undresses and gets into bed clothes - he isn't really sure who or what he dresses for when he barely leaves his own house. When his back hits the mattress, he prays for an easy rest. Of course it is never what he is given, for he is forever haunted by too many thoughts, too many memories. If not caught up thinking of her, his mind will instead pick on one of his many mistakes. He thinks of times less peaceful, when war was all the People knew. When they were once young and fought mindlessly for causes they did not understand, and the sacrifices he forced them to make for the sake of lives worth more than mere survival. He thinks of what these hands of his have done, what blood stains them. What lives were lost because of his decisions, and how the reality of now is unfair; he gets to live, after all that he has done, when so many lost their lives for causes they could never possibly understand. 

Solas sighs, and rolls to his side. He did not close his curtains before he settled into bed, and so he can see the goldens and oranged of the treeline turned mute by the cold blue of the moon. In the distance, over the horizon, he can see the faint glow of the nearby town, though from here his home is far enough away not to hear it. He prefers it this way. Once upon a time, he could not sleep without the noise of a busy populace to guide him; it reminded him of a time when the thoughts of all nearby were projected to him, and he would offer the simplicity of help. Of guidance. 

Then he made the mistake of taking a body. 

Sometimes he envies Wisdom. The spirit truly proves its name through its nature by remaining as it is; not a day goes by in which he does not miss his life as a simple spirit of Pride. It was easy and the problems he helped solve were not his own. Yet he had always been willing to help - too willing, perhaps, and maybe that was why he was not a spirit of Wisdom too. His own pride brought about this sorry life he lives now, when he thought himself capable of handling the problems of a would-be goddess. 

At least She and her kin have their wish now. Distant and impossible to reach - the very status of godhood. 

And then, at whatever early hour in the morning, Solas finds himself feeling something he has not in centuries. There is a pull; a little tug. It is almost missed completely. It is as if someone has tied a string around his smallest finger and barely gave it a pull. But he feels it, he knows it was there. And more importantly, he knows what it was. 

Hurriedly, he bolts out of bed and dresses again, almost in a panic. No one should've been able to find it - no one had for so long as he abandoned them. The magic he left in place so very long ago had not been used by him for hundreds of years for he no longer had need, or desire, to. He was certain he had locked away all traces of it, or at the very least prevented any one else from finding the secret to unlocking it. A system not unlike the Eluvians, joined by the Crossroads, was once under his fingertips, used in secret only by him. It has been dormant for so long, that he had almost been able to forget it entirely. 

But if he can feel its magic stirring now, after so long, what does this mean?  _ Who  _ has activated it, why? More importantly,  _ how _ ? He was certain he had severed the connections between the ley lines, sealed each off from one another for all time. Yet now as he dons his cloak and leaves the secluded safety of his home, he knows with even more sure certainty that the magic had been triggered, somehow. And he must see for himself what it has done, what damage it has caused. 

The closest set of ley lines is not, thankfully, too far out of reach of the Eluvians. He walks the trail into the forest where the nearest mirror is, and wakes it with a gentle touch. Into the Crossroads he journeys, and as he seeks the mirror he is looking for, he finds he has shaken off any tiredness he might've felt. Or, maybe it's adrenaline. 

He's surprised to see others about in the Crossroads at this time and place. Very few but traders and tourists seek the countryside journey to these areas of the brilliantly bright Crossroads; the sight of spirits is a common occurrence, and he notices a few of them stop in their flitting journeys to glance at him. 

Passing through the Eluvian to his destination, he feels mildly refreshed like stepping under a waterfall. The forest here is not silently peaceful as it is near his home; this one is alive with creatures and plant life alike. There are halla awake in the underbrush that stare at him with wide eyes, and owls perched in the trees above that pin him with their stares. The flowers bloom in a bright glow that is unnatural through magic, and the grass flashes with pretty colours under each step. He would marvel at the work it must've taken to enchant this section of forest, but he presumes it was in the interest of the local lording and would care little to compliment he or she in place of the actual artisans who made it possible. 

Perhaps one day he will do something similar with his own home. 

For now it should be the last thing on his mind. He had hoped, when he had taken the decision to invest in an estate of his own being built, he would soon be joined by the lady of his own to rule it with. How truly sorry of a story he must sound to local townsfolk. 

Solas follows the path through the dazzling willows hanging above - seeks out the trail of magic he even now can feel lingering between himself and the ley lines not far from here. What with the environment, he'd imagine any trace of his ley lines had been disrupted or torn up entirely in the lordling's quest to redesign the local area. Yet even from a mere evaluation of the energy he feels pulsating - magic of his own, not that of the plants around him - he knows the lines are, for whatever reason, perfectly intact. 

Yet by the time he reaches them, he cannot begin to explain what might've occurred. He breaches a clearing beneath the great glowing boughs of willow trees above. The designers of this section of forest had certainly tried to hide the evidence of his magic, but had been wise enough to not try to break them. Now, the grass that had been forced to grow over them is sizzling, burned black and following the intricate shapes of his spell that he, somehow, still recognises like he drew them yesterday. 

He kneels, and runs his finger over the tarred grass. He doesn't want to admit it, but - it is undeniable. Undeniable, and worrying. 

Someone has used his lines. 


End file.
